


Stay Cool, It's Just a Kiss

by Bi_lithiumcrystals



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Other, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_lithiumcrystals/pseuds/Bi_lithiumcrystals
Summary: Five conversations surrounding kisses as a relationship builds, and one on the first day of the rest of their lives





	1. 1801- Bookshop

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be in the book verse, but I got emo about the show as I started writing it, and it ended up being pretty solidly based in the show. 
> 
> Also, shout out to my awesome beta @jaceofspace!

1\. 1801, Wednesday

It's not like Crowley had never kissed anyone. He had been around humans for nearly six millennia, and he was willing to try anything- well, most things- at least once. So he had, on more than one occasion, engaged physically with humans to varying degrees. He didn't make a habit of it, however; frankly he failed to see much of the appeal. It was a decent enough way to pass the time- it was stimulating enough. Physically, it was quite pleasant,often psychologically as well, but it didn't quite seem worth what the humans made out of it. They attached so much meaning and mythos to physical intimacy- holding, touching, kissing, in some places and times even just looking was sensational and scandalous. It simply didn't seem worth the effort to achieve a level of pleasure which could be derived from simpler means- ones with less complex mating rituals involved.

He should have known Aziraphale would hold a different view, the hedonist.

"With such frequency? Really?" Crowley asked, slightly bewildered.

"I don't know why you're so surprised. Haven't you ever done it?" Aziraphale intonated, sounding miffed by Crowley's reaction.

They were in Aziraphale's new bookshop. He'd had it just over a year now and owning it clearly brought him much joy, even if he was forced to chase off the occasional customer who wandered in. Crowley had entered under the pretense of discussing the Arrangement, but they both knew he had truly just desired a chat with his definitely-not-a-friend. It had begun as a conversation about humans' perceived morality surrounding sexuality, prompted by a particular book Crowley had been surprised to find in the angel's collection. The conversation had started as a way to poke fun at humans and their ever changing sense of sexual morality, but now it seemed as though Aziraphale was feeling rather judged himself.

"Kissed humans? Of course I have. I just don't see the appeal."

"Well, you must be doing it wrong then."

"Oh, that's rather presumptuous,” Crowley reared his head back, insulted. “Maybe my partners have just been inadequate. Or maybe," he whispered, leaning in, "my reaction is the normal one, and you are a lecher, angel."

They had gotten used to each running into each other over the millennia, usually while working, and had developed a fondness for each other during those encounters, one which was only compounded upon during the occasions in which they met socially, though those had been few and far between at first. But those social calls had become more and more frequent over the last handful of centuries since they both had settled in Britain, and especially so once they formed their Arrangement. By now, Crowley could comfortably call Aziraphale his friend, but they were still finding their footing in this new found- at least, new to an immortal- friendship. The relationship seemed to be forming largely around philosophical debates, sharing the pleasures they found on Earth, and taking the piss out of each other and their respective sides. Crowley found the current trend in human's views of morality quite helpful on that last point.

"Oh, I'm sure. The fault is all to blame with your partners," Aziraphale mocked, ignoring the latter half of Crowley's response. "Anyway, if you're so shocked at the number of men I've kissed, it's likely that you just lack the experience necessary to truly appreciate the activity. You really should try it more often, my dear."

"Oh, I'm sure it took loads of experience for you to determine you liked it, eh?" Crowley raised his eyebrows, seemingly determined to rile Aziraphale up with accusations of debauchery. "Besides, it's hardly as if humans have been lining up to be kissed by strangers for these last few centuries, and the modesty has only gotten worse since we've officially crossed into the nineteenth."

Aziraphale seemed utterly amused at that comment, a ridiculous grin on his face. "I think you may just not know where the lines form, dear boy."

"Alright, fine! I'll kiss some more people if that's what it takes to make you admit that it's just not that good." He threw his hands up. He wasn't even interested in this, he had just been trying to annoy the angel. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed at Aziraphale's implication that he didn't know the details of the current trends in human mating. If he decided the conversation had run its course and moved on to a new topic, that was a completely independent decision, not at all tied to the emotions in his gut.

\--  
1801, Monday

"All right, angel! I've kissed nearly two dozen people in the last three months and I still think you're wrong!" Crowley shouted as he threw open the door to the bookshop.

Aziraphale and the human man whose shoulder he had been leaning over looked up at him. Aziraphale looked slightly annoyed and the human looked beside himself. The human muttered something and quickly exited the shop, throwing several scandalized looks at the two of them on his way out.

"Crowley! You can't just barge in here unannounced, especially shouting things like that!" 

"Oh, you don't even like customers. You would have been miserable if he had taken one of your precious books from you."

"That's not the point, my dear." They both rolled their eyes. 

"Well, my point is, kissing just isn't that interesting." Crowley declared, intending to get back to the real point of the conversation: pissing Aziraphale off. "You must just be a whore."

"Really, Crowley, there's no need to be rude," Aziraphale replied calmly, turning back to his books. "And besides, have you ever even been to a brothel? The workers are often quite pleasant people; there's no cause to use their profession as an insult."

"Am I to take it that you frequent brothels? I doubt Heaven would approve of that." He had meant it as a throwaway comment; he hardly knew what Heaven would and wouldn't approve of- their code of conduct never quite made sense to him. He supposed that contributed to his having Fallen. Nonetheless, with the amount of clear Heaven propaganda Aziraphale incessantly repeated to him, he had assumed the angel understood it and worked largely within their rules- though he was certain he bent them quite often. But it appeared that he had struck a nerve. Aziraphale straightened, abandoned his books, and walked to face Crowley dead on.

"Well, I think it's rather obvious that if none of the kisses you have participated in have been satisfactory, it must be you that's the problem," Aziraphale said coolly. He didn't seem visibly distressed by Crowley's comment, but his eyes held challenge. It appeared that he had decided to rile Crowley up in return.

"What could I possibly be doing so wrong?"

Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face and raised his eyebrows, asking for permission. Crowley, dumbfounded, nodded, and suddenly Aziraphale was kissing him. 

Ah, Crowley thought. Now he understood. The kiss was electrifying. It still felt ridiculous; it was wet, and their noses pressed into each other in a way that made Crowley believe the Almighty had not designed human bodies with this particular activity in mind. But it also sent a thrill through him. He was kissing Aziraphale. Aziraphale, the angel with a bite, who was sarcastic and earnest, empathetic and catty, who was foolish enough and kind enough and brave enough to give humanity a weapon to defend themselves after being scorned by the Almighty. He hadn't loved him since the gate at the garden, he didn't think it was possible to love that quickly. But he had instantly become fond of him, and that fondness had only grown over the millennia. He loved the angel, and now he was being kissed by him. Suddenly all of the ridiculous ideas humans had attached to the act made sense. He brought his hands to Aziraphale's waist and allowed himself to fully succumb to the feeling. He never wanted it to end. And then Aziraphale pulled away.

"Well?" the angel asked. 

Crowley blinked. And again. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and repeated the process, feeling like a fish out of water. "Well," he finally said, reaching his arm out to lean on a nearby bookshelf in a desperate attempt to look nonchalant. "I do believe that my previous partners were inadequate."

"Yes, I'm sure that was the problem," Aziraphale said, breaking eye contact. For all his bravado going into the kiss, he seemed to only just be realizing the consequences of his actions. If he was truly concerned about Heaven's opinion on his relationships with humans, Crowley was sure he didn't want to find out their opinion on what had just happened. Aziraphale began fumbling with the books again, turning away from Crowley and stuttering. "Let- let me know if you need any notes on how to proceed."

Crowley nodded vigorously, despite the fact that Aziraphale was clearly not looking at him. "Yeah, of course. Of course." He readjusted his leaning position in an attempt to look calm, though he feared it may have come off as nervous as he actually was. Though he supposed it didn't truly matter, as Aziraphale was still decidedly not looking at him. "Well, I should be going now. Lots of deeds to be done. No rest for the wicked and all." He continued to ramble as he fled the shop, while Aziraphale nodded along, still not looking at him. "No rest at all."

Actually, rest sounded like a good idea. He wouldn't have to think about what just occurred if he went to sleep. That sounded like a very good idea indeed.


	2. 2009- Street

2\. 2009, Sunday

Sleeping hadn't worked. Sure, he didn't need to process this new level of intensity of his feelings for the angel while he was asleep, but the issue was that he had needed to eventually wake up, which caused three problems. One, Head Office was rather upset that he hadn't reported in for several decades, and that was quite worrying. Enough so that he'd had to swallow his pride and ask Aziraphale for a weapon, which brought him to the second problem: Facing the angel again. Which brought him to the third problem: actually having to process what had happened and figure out how to move forward.

It had been terrifying and exhilarating to ask Aziraphale to meet him in the park, but the angel seemed hard set on ignoring their last encounter, apparently trying very hard not to actually engage in serious conversation. That is until Crowley had actually asked for Holy Water, and then the conversation had spiraled out of Crowley's control, leaving him with a whole new emotional mess to process on top of things.

They had of course seen each other several times since then, but neither had ever brought up the kiss again. Crowley was somewhat surprised he had managed to get Aziraphale to mention the Holy Water again, though that had taken some doing. Namely, very loudly planning an elaborate heist in the angel's neighborhood, which he had very much hoped he wouldn't have to follow through on. He would have- of course- preferred to simply be given the Holy Water, but if metaphorically standing outside of Aziraphale's window, shouting "I'm about to do something very stupid!" is what it took to protect himself, he had been willing to do it.

He had accomplished his goal that night, and had also finally gotten confirmation that Aziraphale did indeed feel the same way. But had also been told that Aziraphale wasn't ready for things to move at the pace they were. Which was rich, coming from him. He was the one who had kissed Crowley in the first place and started this whole mess. Crowley could have gone the rest of time simply being with him. He had of course hoped that Aziraphale would realize Heaven's flaws, but he never expected him to reject Them, especially not for Crowley's sake. He would have been content to stay by his friend's side now matter where they claimed their allegiance, however superfluously. But then Aziraphale had gone and kissed him.

And he hadn't stopped thinking about it. He definitely hadn't stopped thinking about doing it again, either. But Aziraphale wasn't ready, so he could wait. That didn't stop him from dreaming about it though.

This was only compounded by the fact that same sex couples were slowly becoming more comfortable existing in public again. Which was good. He had never understood humanity's obsession with gender roles, or gender at all really. But he had grown to accept that they had waves where they considered some things perfectly acceptable one century and then scorned it the next. He was glad to see that the recent wave of hatred was ebbing away at least somewhat; it was a ridiculous thing to hate someone over after all. But it, combined with the fact that they had been spending more time together than ever before since the arrival of the antichrist, did mean that humans were mistaking him and Aziraphale as a couple with more frequency than usual.

Which had always been fine. It had happened to them quite often over the years, and since neither particularly cared how they fit into humans' societal roles when it came to things of that sort, it had never bothered them. But it was different now. For one, there was actually something tangible- though unnameable- between them now, which complicated the situation. For another, Aziraphale had apparently become quite involved in human affairs while Crowley had been sleeping, and now seemed to firmly identify as a gay man, so that did change how Aziraphale reacted to these assumptions, especially the rude ones.

An example of which had just occurred. Crowley wasn't quite certain why the word that had just been shouted at them apparently pertained to queer men, but judging by Aziraphale's reaction, it had a nasty meaning and history.

Crowley's first reaction was a desire to miracle the man into immediate harm, but they were on a busy street, with several witnesses. If the man suddenly fell into traffic, he would likely have to deal with police at some point, a prospect he did not look forward to. Instead, he decided to incense the man further. He cupped Aziarphale's face and raised his eyebrows, asking for permission. Aziraphale, dumbfounded, nodded, and suddenly he was kissing him. And only just now realizing that he had exactly mirrored Aziraphale's behavior two centuries past. That was certainly something to think about. But later.

For now, Aziraphale's lips were just as soft as he remembered. He had kissed several more humans since their last kiss in an attempt to see if the experience could be replicated and found that it couldn't. He had almost convinced himself that he had only imagined how good it was. He saw now he was wrong. This kiss was even better. He still found the actual act awkward, but the emotion behind it had only intensified. And he knew now that Aziraphale felt the same way, which only increased the joy flittering in his chest. He was suddenly reminded of a line from one of the poems Aziraphale had read to him in an attempt to interest him in the artform. He couldn't remember the poet or the rest of the lines, but he could remember "Hope is the thing with feathers." He felt a pair of wings, not his own, beating rapidly in his heart now. Hope. One day, just maybe, he could have this every day. He just had to wait until Aziraphale was ready.

Which reminded him. Aziraphale wasn't ready. He may have just ruined everything. He pulled away, sheepish.

But Aziraphale's face followed his, reaching for the kiss, and he reached up to keep Crowley's hands on his face before he seemed to suddenly remember himself and open his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, Crowley's gaze only dragged away when he heard the man who had hurled the insult at them sputtering and starting towards them, but the man suddenly dropped out of sight and howled in pain.

"That ought to sprain pretty severely," Aziraphale said softly, still looking at Crowley. "His ankle is possibly even broken."

"Is that right?" Crowley laughed. "And I thought I was the one supposed to behave like that."

He realized his mistake instantly. They both suddenly remembered who they were, and that they were in broad daylight on a busy street. Aziraphale pulled away as though Crowley's touch burned.

"Yes, well. I'm supposed to combat hatred, aren't I? My actions here have been strictly professional," Aziraphale stammered, straightening his jacket nervously.

It pained him, but he knew Aziraphale still needed the facade of them being rivals at the moment. And really, he should have an excuse ready for if this somehow made its way downstairs. "Well, so have mine. It's my job to stoke anger, isn't it?"

They both turned to continue walking to the Bently, casting furtive glances at each other when they believed the other wasn’t looking. Crowley ached to reach for his hand but stuck his hands in his pockets instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know- kissing to piss of a homophobe is so tropey. But honestly, Crowley is just desperate to kiss Az again and is using this an excuse.
> 
> "Hope" is a poem by Emily Dickinson


	3. 2019- Bus

3\. 2019, Saturday

_You don't have a side anymore._ The words kept echoing in his head. They were true, he knew that. On some level, he supposed he had known ever since he had handed Adam and Eve his sword, but he had fought so hard to keep himself, and everyone else, from admitting it. It was how he defined himself. After all, what could be more core to his very being than his being an angel? With his allegiance to his side formally and irreparably severed he felt stripped bare, like there was nothing left of who he was. 

He felt positively giddy.

He had feared, for nearly as long as he had existed, what would happen if his side were to cast him out. But _he_ had left _them._ And, as he had suddenly realized moments ago, his being stripped of how he had always defined himself meant that he got to start anew. He could build himself entirely, this time only composing himself of what he wanted, not what he was told was right. He had never felt so excited to begin something, nor so free.

This is what Crowley had been urging him to find all these years- this beautiful feeling. _Ah,_ he thought, _Crowley._ He turned to the demon, his friend, sitting beside him on the rather cramped bus seat. He decided the first brick he was going to lay in his new construction of himself; he was going to stop that echo in his head, because it was wrong. He changed it. _You don't have a side,_ no. _We're on our side,_ that was more like it. He had been so afraid when Crowley hissed the words at him just over twenty four hours ago, but now they brought him a level of happiness previously unfathomable, as well as a bolt of courage. He reached out and took Crowley's hand, something he had dreamed of doing since he had first seen humans perform the act.

Crowley, who had been pensively staring out the window thus far into their ride, snapped his attention to him. Oh, Aziraphale wished he could see his beautiful, expressive eyes. But he knew Crowley was uncomfortable with others seeing them, and he had long since learned to read his expressions well enough without eye contact. Crowley looked the definition of hope, Aziraphale thought, as he beamed at the demon, brighter than he had smiled in years, and Crowley's face turned to an expression he couldn't name. But Crowley didn't move a muscle, as though he feared that he would shatter the moment if he did. Aziraphale felt the blame lay with him there; he had always pulled away and had fled a step backward every time they had taken two steps forward in the past. With a twinge of guilt, he pulled their entwined hands up, and kissed Crowley's hand in an effort to assuage his friend's fear.

Crowley let out a rush of air- a giddy laugh, Aziraphale thought. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes- the pure joy that they were finally on the same page overwhelming him.

But Crowley tore his hand out of Aziraphale's, lifting it up to loosely cover his mouth as he turned away. Aziraphale was consumed with dread and fear as he abruptly realized that he had been wrong.What he thought had been a laugh of joy was instead one of disbelieving sorrow. The bus passed a street lamp, the light catching just right that he could see past Crowley's glasses, and see the tears his friend was struggling not to let fall, though he no longer believed that they had the same cause as his own. It appeared he was not as adept at reading Crowley’s moods as the thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, to question why, when he noticed Crowley opening and closing his own mouth, apparently struggling for words.

"Angel," he croaked out. "Please don't say goodbye to me."

"My dear boy," Aziraphale whispered gently, baffled, "What ever do you mean?"

Crowley took a moment before speaking. "We both know my side won't let what we've done today pass. Yours won't either, but at worst, you'll Fall. You’ll live. But I..." he shook his head, turning away again. "I killed one of my own kind, angel. They won't ever forget that, or show any mercy. 

"Looks like you were right all those years ago. I used Holy Water to kill him. They'll surely use it to destroy me. And I can live with that- or rather, die with it," he laughed mirthlessly. "But I can't live with you saying goodbye to me. Especially not like this. I can't finally have this- us- knowing that it's a goodbye."

Aziraphale was speechless. Not only at Crowley's words, but the fact that he hadn't anticipated them. He had been so wrapped up in himself he hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to the love of his life falling to pieces right beside him, and he had been so blind to what his reactions had truly meant. He cast his glance skyward, the urge to pray nearly ingrained in him, and then the desire to curse the Almighty took its place. Of course, they would finally reach this point, only to have it ripped away from them, and for Crowley to die, screaming, for no truly good reason. He wished he could take Crowley's place in what was to come.

The tears that had formed earlier, now tainted with anguish, began to fall. And then he realized. He sat up straight, and grabbed both of Crowley's hands in his own. Crowley appeared as though he was struggling to breathe evenly as he turned his gaze back towards him.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale breathed. "Crowley, I have an idea." His smile somehow outshone his one from earlier. 

"The walls have ears, my dear," he whispered as he pressed his forehead to Crowley's. "So I'll tell you when we get to your flat, but I have an idea."


	4. 2019- Flat

4.2019, Saturday

Aziraphale rushed up the steps to Crowley's flat, feeling as though he was walking on air, even as he tugged a melancholy serpent behind him. Reaching his door, Crowley opened it with a snap of his fingers, and Aziraphale pulled him inside.

"Are we safe to talk in here, or should I write it down?" He bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to contain how pleased he was with himself.

"I don't think it's any more safe than anywhere else, but you may as well say it. If they're bothering to listen to us, writing it down won't change anything."

Aziraphale rushed towards him, cradling his face in his hands and resting his forehead against his. "I can take your place," he breathed out in wonder.

"What?" Crowley pulled back, but he didn't break out of Aziraphale's hold on him, instead raising his hands to cover the angel's.

" _We must choose our faces wisely,_ Crowley. I choose yours! We can alter our physical forms can't we? I can make myself look like you, that way they'll drag me down to Hell, and they won't be able to destroy me with Holy Water!"

"Aziraphale..." Crowley breathed out in awe, shaking his head in disbelief as a smile slowly spread across his face. Crowley moved in to kiss him, and Aziraphale gasped, going to close his eyes, before Crowley reared back.

"Now, hang on! What if they decide to punish me- you- differently?" he questioned, scrunching his face up. "I can't put you at risk like that, angel."

"Well, then I suppose you'll have to come rescue me. You have made quite the habit out of that." He leaned in, as though referencing his numerous brushes with discorporation were an inside joke.

"If I make my way down into the deepest pit to rescue you, they'll realize you're a fake and destroy you. Aziraphale, what if the fire in the prophecy is Hellfire?" He pulled away entirely, clearly very worried.

"You'll just have to be me, then. Oh, Crowley this is the perfect plan! When they try to use Holy Water on ‘you,’ I'll be unaffected, make something up about having been corrupted- or uplifted, I suppose- by humanity or by me. Then, however they punish me after that- and there's no reason for them to use Hellfire if I sell it well enough- "you" would still be a demon so it would have no effect as far as they're concerned- you'll be able to come rescue me as me! They'll try to stop "me" with Hellfire, but you won't be affected by it!" He grabbed Crowley's hand. "Crowley, this will work!"

Crowley opened and closed his mouth, staring at him. "We can't really get away with this, can we?"

"Agnes hasn't been wrong yet, has she?"

"Well, what about you? Even if this does work, and we both escape Hell, angel, Falling... I can't do it for you. It burns away to your very soul; we won't be able to trick Heaven."

Aziraphale closed the distance between them and placed a light kiss to Crowley's lips. "I am prepared to Fall. In a sense, I fell for you ages ago. What difference will having it be official make?"

"It's not that simple. They don't just flip a switch and make you a demon. Aziraphale, the experience of Falling, it's... damn it all, it's ineffable."

"I realize that. But I don't have any choice at this point. And at least when I Fall, I'll have you there to catch me."

Crowley laughed and shook his head before fixing his gaze on Aziraphale. "I love you."

It was far from a reveal. They had both known for millennia, and it had been said thousands of times in not so many words. Nonetheless, Aziraphale broke into a grin so wide his muscles ached

"And I, you, my dear. More than words can say. Listen to me when I say this, though. This is not a goodbye. This is a promise. Tomorrow is going to be the first day of the rest of our lives."

He leaned in and kissed him. Finally, properly kissed him, no doubt or walls between them. He had kissed many people over the ages, but none had compared to the four kisses he had previously shared with Crowley, and none of those four compared to this one. 6,000 years worth of love was trying to be poured into this kiss- which did make it a fair bit awkward. They didn't quite know what the other enjoyed yet, and Crowley was doing a really weird thing with his tongue. But it didn't matter. He was kissing Crowley, the love of his life, of eternity. Making the technique perfect would come later, and he had absolute faith that there would be a later for the both of them. But for now, they wrapped each other in their arms and allowed themselves to feel, for the first time in their long existence, completely and utterly loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I refuse to believe these idiots could have figured out the whole thing accurately, so they're going to at least be wrong about what's gonna happen to "Aziraphale."
> 
> 2\. You know I can't not reference the line in the book "and he could do really weird things with his tongue"


	5. 2019- Street & Bench

5\. 2019, Sunday

Dagon and Hastur shoved him to the ground in St James Park, very near where they had taken him, and fled. He held himself for a moment there on his hands and knees and breathed out deliriously. He had really fooled them. Hell had really believed he was Crowley.

But Hell wasn't the problem. It had all gone wrong, and Heaven had Crowley. They hadn't expected Heaven to act so quickly. He had thought they would need God to make him Fall, and that it would take much longer for Heaven to manage that. But then Crowley had disappeared from his side and Uriel, Sandolphon, and the others had dragged him away. He had broken character entirely in that moment, only concerned with saving Crowley from Heaven's wrath, but then he himself had been taken.

The entire trial felt like it was occurring far away from him. All he could feel was his ridiculous heart, which didn't even need to beat, pounding a deafening beat, and all he could think about was Crowley and what Heaven was doing to him. But he needed to stay in character. He would be useless to Crowley if Hell had figured him out and threw him in the deepest pit or burned him with Hellfire. He thanked, well, not God- Their silence and inaction through everything didn't deserve thanks- but he thanked someone that he knew Crowley well enough and that they had spent all of last night-after they had collected themselves- practicing being each other so he could pull off the facade despite his panic.

But now the panic overtook him. He had no idea how long he had before they tried to make "him" Fall; how long until Crowley was exposed. They would no doubt kill him instantly. His only solace was his confidence that it hadn't happened yet. Given Heaven and Hell's apparent cooperation- the image of Michael in Hell would surely haunt him- he was positive that if Heaven had discovered their ruse, they would have informed Hell and they would have burned him in Hellfire. So he had some time, however brief.

He would simply have to reverse their plan from the night before; he would have to rescue Crowley.

He picked himself up from the ground and sprinted toward the building with the main entrances to Heaven and Hell. He could feel the lactic acid building in his body and the burn in his lungs as he ran, but he ignored it. He would gladly discoporate his body to save Crowley; the risk of pushing it too far and injuring it was nothing in comparison to arriving to Heaven too late. He turned a corner, nearly there, and slammed into a body running the opposite direction.

He fell to the ground and looked up, preparing to shout at the human in his way when he realized it wasn't a human at all. It was his own body starting down at him. Crowley, completely unharmed and grinning like an idiot. He reached out a hand to help Aziraphale stand, and made a shushing gesture when he saw Aziraphale begin to sputter.

"I'm not sure if we're still being watched," he said in a hushed tone as Aziraphale pulled himself to a standing position.

Aziraphale simply stared at him for a moment before grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him hard. He tried to pour everything he was thinking and feeling into the kiss. _I don't understand how you're okay, but I'm so grateful. I was so worried about you. I'm so glad you're okay. I never want to leave your side again. I have no idea what I would have done if I had lost you. I never want to feel so afraid for you again. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

He realized tears had begun fall when Crowley pulled away and wiped them from his cheek. "Shh, I'm okay. We're okay. You are okay, aren't you?"

Aziraphale let out a shaky laugh. "Yes, I'm okay. Well, I am now that I know you're safe anyway. How are you safe?"

Crowley leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward a small nearby park.

"We were wrong," he said softly. "They didn't make me Fall. They forced me to walk into Hellfire."

Aziraphale gasped, his eyes widening, in part playing the act of Crowley, in part because he truly had not expected that answer. He bad been sure that he would Fall, after all, that's what had happened to every other angel who had rebelled. As far as he knew, anyway. Thinking of it now, however, he realized that if Heaven had ever executed an angel before, they would no doubt keep that fact hidden, obsessed with their image as good. He should have realized Heaven was far more dastardly than they let on.

They had arrived in the small park Crowley had been pulling them toward, and Aziraphale sat on a bench in the middle of it, pulling Crowley down next to him by the hand. "Well," he inquired, "what happened then?"

"Oh, well, obviously, it didn't kill me. I don't know if it's the hanging around humans or if it's you, but I was fine." He said this as though he were surprised by his lack of fiery death and as if he didn't know exactly why he was fine. Aziraphale smiled brightly at their charade, still amazed that it had worked.

"That's lucky," he said, gazing at Crowley. His acting wasn't so impressive here. He was genuinely awed at their luck that Heaven had tried to destroy him using a method that Crowley had easily survived. He squeezed Crowley's hand.

Crowley pulled their hands towards him and kissed Aziraphale's before letting it go, and reaching toward the back of Aziraphale's head. "What about you, though? It looked like you got a nasty bump on the head as they were dragging me away."

"Oh, well, it's nothing. I've already miracled myself better." They sat in silence for a moment before he asked "Do you think they'll leave us alone now?"


	6. 2019- Bed

+1. 2019, Monday

Crowley woke slowly to the feeling of another body holding him. He opened his eyes and turned around to look at Aziraphale, surprised to find him actually sleeping. He knew Aziraphale didn't find the same pleasure in sleep as he did, and when he had asked the angel to stay in bed with him last night, he had expected Aziraphale to stay awake reading. It was somewhat surprising that Aziraphale had a bed in a backroom of the bookshop at all. When Crowley had noticed it for the first time, years ago, Aziraphale had said that it was there for appearances sake. Crowley suspected that this was the first time it had ever been used.

But Crowley had felt absolutely exhausted yesterday. Their lunch and the hours they had spent discussing the new change to their relationship were wonderful, but the earlier events of the day, the entire week really, were a lot to process, and Crowley desperately desired a good night's sleep. Aziraphale hadn't wanted to leave the bookshop though, and Crowley hadn't wanted to leave him, so they had settled into Aziraphale's backroom.

They still needed to talk more. Their entire lives were changing now. They were no longer beholden to Heaven and Hell, and could decide their own courses of action. That was going to be a major adjustment for the both of them. And, of course, the other major shift in their lives. Crowley had longed for millennia to simply be with Aziraphale, and now he had that. Not only that, but they had both confessed that they loved one another, and Crowley believed that Aziraphale would not run away from that confession this time. 6,000 years of heartache, fear, repression, and longing had come to a close, and they were now able to live the rest of eternity together. Aziraphale had referred to yesterday- the first day since the world had not ended- as the first day of the rest of their lives. Crowley disagreed. Today, the day where he woke up in the arms of the love of his life, knowing that he was loved, but not knowing much else, as the possibilities for what to do with themselves stretched on and on, was the true first day of the rest of their lives. And what glorious lives they would be.

He suspected that his ridiculously sappy line of thought was being broadcast to the angel's sense of love, because Aziraphale began to blink awake.

"Oh. Hello there. Good morning" Aziraphale greeted sleepily, leaning in for a light kiss.

Crowley smiled softly. "I think it's actually early afternoon."

"Oh. Oh, my. That's quite a lot of time lost."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be, my dear. Although the sleeping itself is rather inefficient, I don't think I'd trade waking up to the sight of you for anything."

Crowley let out a sharp laugh and looked away. Despite having wanted this for so long, he found himself completely clueless with how to react to such affection and the feeling it created inside him.

Of course Aziraphale noticed and took advantage, the bastard. "Your presence is a gift, and your smile is the most precious sight in the world to me," Aziraphale wrapped his arms tighter around Crowley. "I love you, my dear, and although I am finally able to say it, I find myself incapable of finding the words to express it."

The angel was clearly trying to find the words, not just to express his feelings, but to make Crowley blush. Back to their old games of teasing each other, but now with a wonderful new dynamic. And the bastard was winning. For a being who had no real use of blood, quite a lot of it was heating Crowley's face. "Angel, could you please shut it?"

"Hm. Only if you make me," Aziraphale teased. Well, Crowley thought, he was definitely willing to make that move in the game. He closed the distance between them and kissed the angel, with only part of the motivation being to shut him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was quite a step up, considering that the only other fic I've written in 10 years was less than 300 words! I hope you all liked it!


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